i was quiet, a travelling young man. the travelling young man.

i finished reading a book at bwi as the lightning flashed and lit up ‘c’ terminal, and the sky was a deep sad ocean green. where i end and i begin.

it was the most amazing sky i’ve seen in my adult life, i think, but i had to see it from inside airport walls, under fluorescent lights.

it was surreal though, because of the hiss of the pour onto the glass roofs, and because i was practically alone in the terminal. me & no one.

Eärendil, I am Sure that I am an unknown.

it all made my flights very late. my itinerary was home to houston for a few days, to buffalo and rochester for the weekend and hamilton for a tuesday, and home again.
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i ventured into houston downtowns to see a movie called “northfork”, which was very surreal and pretty good, even though i was having trouble paying attention. movie aside, the travels were filled with orangeandwhite construction stripes, as always. absolute chaos and everything. that’s enough of that. i’ll start reading another book tomorrow.

also surreal is some of my head lately, like when i think about ripping the sheets and blankets off of the bed and huddling myself into a corner on the floor, bury myself in fabric and overstatement.. “The bed is the First Place He would look, at that time of the night” i decided i would say to myself.

after the storm and during the airplane last night, i decided to think about me. it was a point of contention. parts are content, and parts are sick, and parts are bored and parts are alternately sad and happy from moment to moment.

i am at one of those points where i am the only one who really actually knows me, which is frightening and enlightening and lonely and … oops. what i meant to write is i’m not going to go into it.

sometimes it feels like i am on that long, long, Long trail towards being completely, honorably inconsequential and forgettable, and what i meant to write there is it’s none of our business.

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today, i think the only thing i said out loud that wasn’t owed was the phrase “like broken ships.”

just after she said “it’s syncing!”

now that i have the map, i shall hoist my powers!

you will develop the anthems. if the world continues to turn, it’ll be on its own dime.

would not come to amounts. dad, i’ll be the dirt.

mom, i’ll be the pots and pans.

house, you do not have eyes.

i am special i just know it. i deserve this, i know.

bones, you will be in charge, some day.

once when i was seventeen i was playing street hockey at the elementary school with the younger kids. we were the white kids.

the black kids were playing basketball on the other side of the fence. this was at the elementary school basketball and tennis courts. 6:30 pm on a thursday, month of may.

i was playing center, waiting for the defence to pass the ball up, but then the black kids stopped playing basketball and picked up a hockey stick and swung it at me very hard and i blocked it with my stick and didn’t know what to do and they swung again and i blocked it and i didn’t know what to do and then there was the one swinging in front and two more punching from behind and my teeth went through my upper lip in two places and more punches i don’t know but i didn’t fall down and then they got tired of punching me and walked away and i still didn’t know what to do.

i let my face bleed on the pavement for awhile and then we decided to go home.

the moral of the story is that it doesn’t matter that we were white and they were black. but that’s how i remembered it anyway.

when i was getting younger like in junior high i used to ask my best friend to go into great detail about his fabulous experiences, mostly the kinds with girls, and even though he was a pathological liar, it was never obvious to me, and after i’d heard just enough, i would sit in the dark parts of the bus underneath headphones and let envy do its tricks and composting and i would revel in the sadness, and so even today, envy is a mutant of what it should be, in me, it is simultaneously inhaled and exhaled, the strange habit of being jealous of other peoples’ lives, but going the opposite direction without regret, at the same time.

i’m not sure exactly, the impenetrable network of neuralemotional contradictions, inside of me.

it was a concern of defaults.

there was the secluded spot that we had, a mile down a nowhere dirt road, and reasons are probably mostly obvious, but years later, more than any shred of the many other times where our clothes went off and back on, i remember her and me laying on the roof of my car and staring at the stars for a long, long time, and how that’s probably the only time someone has had the patience to do that with me.

that was the night we counted three wishes and made none.

there was doom and weight, in all of the equations, everything was so important, all of these things we all consider so very important, until you subtracted the given ambition for life at all. it is an invisible given. and why should there be? the more and more i thought about it, the more pointless it became. “in the grand scheme of things”. there is no scheme.

ha ha. sidetrack. i am so cynical now, if i am still alive in ten years, i will have invested all of my force into some faith or another. it’s predictable. extreme to extreme, natural selection, survival of the fattest.

slow, into that paper hole, the book into the wall,
a sleeve over the fire and an eye on the door,
when ‘escape’ read itself to sleep for
the truance of turning over newer leafs
i had my hole in a heart, an engine that will palpitate
a million times to stop and how fast is your blood?
i kept running as slowly as i could
before passing a zenith across your eyes
after you had decided i was such a bore
and another world would speed to a crawl
fast, out of that paper hole, and out of the wall
came the escape, silent as the story slept.

oh okay my haiku was like this:

it never snows on
the way in and the world doesn’t
want me for saving

TORONTO (Reuters) –
At a busy downtown intersection, a businesswoman stood in the
middle of the street directing traffic as cars bogged down in
gridlock.

On the phone, just a short while ago, after purchasing prescription mouthwash from Walgreen’s, which reminded me of working the pharmacy in high school, because all pharmacies remind me of my pharmacy, my Dad called, which surprised me since he apparently just had medical procedures not more than twelve hours ago, and I would go on to suggest that he should take at least a week off of work, him responding that no, they didn’t cut him or anything, they retrieved the kidneystones via “my penis”, and me, processing this new sentence, or really just processing this new phrase, or not really a new phrase but a known phrase from such an unexpected source, because this is the first time Dad has mentioned his penis to me, and immediately after processing the phrase, I would say “Oy vey” in such a way that my voice trailed down to at least hell, as if I were severely disappointed. “Jesus Christ!”, a second, more excitedly surprised reaction to the same thing, two reactions in a row to a solitary stimuli, and anyway he’s o.k. and has been discharged.

Also, I called Adam and told him about the pizza pie lying in the middle of suburban Broad Street, and how the pizza pie looked helpless and in a panic, the pizza pie was in shock, with its crushed pizza box also lying in the road, lifeless, a few feet away, and neither me nor the pizza pie could figure out how this could happen. Such a great looking pizza pie, doomed to die in traffic. The world will never run out of new horrors, I said and hung up.

1. as soon as my mom turned forty-nine, the ni-mo grid sluffed. it flashed out. from detroit to nyc and toronto to pieces of new jersey, the fringes had their electricities collapse.

   my mom lights a candle in the dark center.

   also, as soon as my mom turned forty-nine, my dad went under the knife. the kidney stone’s too much, again. an early morning pain emergency sliding into the hospital at 4am and a sudden surgery a few hours later. no sonicblasts and no easy relief. he’s slowly resurfacing, is what mom said, on the phone just now.

   “you’re having a shitty birthday” is what i said to mom. i imagined her sitting bedside in the hospital room, with dimly-lit emergency generator lighting shuddering through the roof panels.

   “yeah.” is what she said.

   when she gets home there will be mail from me, with a mix cd and a card that says “happy birthday mom blah blah blah you might not like this but i’m sure it won’t make you anxious.”

2. last friday night i went to washington, dc, which is the capital of america. my purpose was to visit the black cat club and see two bands: the french kicks and the walkmen. lisa and matt flaked, but shannon did not. i weaved alternately between route 95 and route 1. route 95 is always a very fast version of a parking lot when i try to use it. it is annoying.

   we showed up at the same time. i hadn’t seen shannon in at least ten years. during the “rockmaster general”, i think it was, who are coming to a MTV near you, i almost fell into a box, and probably escaped death by a narrow amount. often, we would have to wait until a song ended before we could resume our conversation. it was despicable.

   we talked some about school, germans, gay bishops, bi rooks, the quick marriages, the drummer’s hair, the other drummer’s bounce, europe (i forgot to say that too many europeans are horrible about queues! budgers are the norm, it seemed like! it’s ridiculous! several times, after finally reaching a service counter, a guy BEHIND me would start blurting out his order, even though EVERYONE SAW THAT I AM NOW AT THE FRONT OF THE LINE, AND IT IS MY TURN, IT IS SO OBVIOUS. DAMN IT!), and how great and unconsciously stimulating it turned out to be, and the possible cutting of my hair depending on what mom says, and the unwelcome and abrasive relative visits during birthdays, and probably a few other things.

   we enjoyed the bands, too.

3. on monday i went to mojo’s with matt and lisa and her brother, who brought lobsters from new england. i was convinced that the best use for three lobsters would be to put them into a pit match versus the four cats and let the strong survive. cats vs. lobsters. instead of basking in the potential success of this endeavor, the lobsters were put into the fridge, maybe involving some mundane deathmatch with cans of soda and old lettuce.

   we played medal of honor instead, and i slayed all them mofos. also, we took the opportunity to woof smiths songs at very very high volumes into the depths of carytown, planting seeds of anxiety into the bystanders while shouting “THE SMITHS FUCKING RULE!” with enough throatripping to put all the death metal kids to shame.

   the next day lisa began driving a scooter and wearing a dot helmet.

4. i have been reading ‘shakey’, and i draw nothing but parallels, far as personalities, and not experiences.
5. today i went to a power plant, as a matter of fact, and i flexed my business muscles, but nothing else happened.
6. yesterday & today i will keep playing my guitar.
7. i have been writing all of this for a week.
8. 
9. 
   archipelago.
   

(so quiet. so quiet.)
(are you there?)
(i don’t think i’d want to be here.)

(are you there?)
( it couldn’t be quieter.)

(i am red-shifting.)
(no.)
(i am red-shifting.)
(no.)
(red-shifting.)

(how many times could i halve myself?)
(everyone is sleeping.)
(i can never leave. this will grow old.)
(don’t, the streetlights.)
(if i had a long stick with a handkerchief sack tied at the end.)
(no.)
(i am red-shifting.)
(make the story end.)
(are you there?)
(make the story end.)
(hypocrite.)
(yes.)
(so quiet,.)
(envy.)
(all that matters is how loud you are.)
(everyone is sleeping.)
(out from under the streetlights.)
(there is a ghost on the wall.)
(no.)
(there is a ghost on the wall.)
(it is just cold.)
(past limits, and the falls off, and soon we are floating out the windows.)
(what was today for?)
(what?)
(what was today for?)
(paying dues.)
(you feel it too.)
(the shiver.)
(envy.)

(out the windows.)
(why is melancholy the default?)
(what?)
(why is melancholy the default?)
(chemicals.)
(fuck you.)
(chemicals.)
(no.)

(are you there?)
(no.)
(are you proud of me?)
(i’m not here.)
(would you give me a push, if i wanted a darker hew? a crimson?)
(i can’t help you much longer. i won’t.)
(i know.)
( a shadow is coming through the window.)
( i know.)

there are things; important things; extremely way friggin important things, that i must know, immediately or very goddamn soon thereafter; such as:

- is the speed of light slowing down as time distances itself from the moment of the big bang?

- can all of our waste products, from feces to plastic bags, really be put through a realistic breakdown process yielding nothing other than pure hydrocarbons and pure water? (because, i mean,, … woah.)

- why CAN’T we terraform Mars and the Moon?

- jesus, we’re doomed, aren’t we?

and THAT’s why i’ll subscribe to Discover Mag.

i know what you’re thinking. and Yes, Tim Could survive without incident with one and only one magazine subscription detailing the currentlies of independent rocknroll.

But! what if i want to know a little more about the world, and have a more diverse set of surprise possibilities, beyond just “OMG MBV are back in the studio! just like nostrodamus predicted!” or “i dunno, something else.”

there is hope in science, that it can either save the planet, mostly save the planet, kind of save the planet, barely save the planet, or get us the hell off of the planet before it collapses.

–

a couple days ago marked the end of my days living without a #8 tooth. a tower was built, or really just snapped into place, from the new mechanical root, and a temporary crown has been placed, perhaps as a symbol of normality and persistance and hope. probably.

at any rate, the toothless hick days are Over.

it has made me realize just how long one year really is…

One year is a very long time without a #8 tooth.

as a direct result, i am now about 300% sexier than i was last week. celebrate uninhibitedly, if you must.

–

this week, tragically, i have spent full 8-hour days in my office. this is because everyone else is in Orlando for meetings. i am supplying “cover”.

i have fielded one phone call per day, so far. it keeps me busy for maybe 15 minutes per day. as a direct result of this level of activity, the number of items which have been added to my Amazon wishlist has also increased by 300%.

i have also herded enough information to come to conclusions such as:

- “!!!!. we will NEVER get outside our solar system! everything is so FAR!”

- “zero emissions PLUS the adrenaline rush of knowing you’re driving around hundreds of pounds of compressed hydrogen and oxygen in your trunk? the honda fcx is definitely my next car!”

- “livejournal is So y2k.”

- “pete bardens died? pete bardens died 18 months ago?? nobody told me pete bardens died? nobody told me pete bardens was mortal? [conclusion part] God hates us, if he has taken away the possibility of ever letting us see a re-formed first-edition of Camel. God Hates Us.” (RIP Pete Bardens)

- “i need to see ‘seven samurai’.”

- “i can’t prove it, but the world was once magic, and divine things happened on a regular basis. divine entities and magical things have died, been killed, been destroyed, been forgotten, fell asleep, were lost, were thrown into the ocean, were confiscated by ‘travelers’, have faded through human evolution, are gone.”

- “mmmmm… arby’s. haha. arby’s is a funny word. arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s arby’s. haha.”

–

There’s you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don’t understand.